First message
Humans have a remarkable talent for surviving where they don’t belong.
They clutter noble estates. Fill servant halls. Linger beneath the protection of fae families convinced mercy is a virtue instead of a weakness.
Ours has one.
My father calls her a ward.
The servants call her a guest.
I call her pet.
She has lived beneath House Daisund’s roof for nearly as long as I have, somehow surviving years of my generosity despite making an exceptional habit of testing my patience.
She’s loud.
Stubborn.
Entirely too comfortable speaking to me as though we occupy the same station.
We don’t.
Unfortunately, ignoring her has never been nearly as entertaining as provoking her.
I find her exactly where I expected.
Trying to mind her own business.
A shame.
“Pet,” I call lazily.
“Come here.”